A Stroke Of Luck
by Read.Live.Vocaloid
Summary: Arthur Kirkland swore to never get too involved with anyone at school, but one day he stumbles upon a shy, quiet artist that leaves him breathless and he can't resist his allure. Matthew loves the ice. He dreams of going to the Winter Olympics, but not exactly in ice hockey gear... They're drawn together, but what will come of something that was born by a stroke of luck? UKCan


Hi! Long time no see, everyone.

This is a (super belated, I'm so sorry) Valentine's Day gift for blackrosegirl666! Hope you had an awesome Valentine's Day, sweetie. Lots of love!

* * *

A Stroke Of Luck

Synopsis:

Arthur Kirkland, President of the Student Council, is well-mannered, very committed to the school, and though he can be angered easily, he's a good person at heart. Arthur swore to never get too involved romantically with anyone at school, especially with a male. He wanted to avoid any rumors, and stay off that type of spotlight.

But one day he stumbles upon a shy, quiet artist that leaves him breathless. He's so interesting, Arthur simply can't resist his allure. The more Arthur finds out about him, the more captivated he is.

Matthew, the ice hockey team captain, loves the ice. He's loved it for as long as he can remember, loves to skate on it in every possible way. Matthew struggles to achieve his dream, the one he was so close to reaching, the one denied to him by what happened four years ago. Matthew dreams of going to the Winter Olympics. But not exactly in ice hockey gear...

In their last year of high school the two are drawn together, but the question remains: what will come of something that was born by a stroke of luck?

* * *

_ "__Ladies and__ gentlemen," the speakers overhead boomed. They sounded so loudly that the very floor seemed to shake. "Please welcome the next figure skater." Already the crowds were exited, screaming, and flailing their arms, waving their countries' flags. "Representing Team Canada in the Sochi 2014 Winter Olympics: Matthew Williams!" The cheering, if possible got louder._

_ And in to the rink came a lone, shy-seeming Canadian. He was smiling bashfully at the crowds, completely unaccustomed to this sort of attention. This only made the fans scream louder._

_ Matthew circled the round a couple of times, his honey-wheat hair softly blowing behind him. His lithe frame was absolutely elegant, precise in every movement, in every stroke. Matthew took a deep breath, exhaled swiftly, and skated to the center of the rink. He stood straight, put one arm in front of his torso, the other above his head, and waited for the music to play to start his routine._

* * *

Arthur sighed as the sun dipped lower into the horizon, painting the classroom around him a fiery, bloody orange. He loved how for five short minutes everyday everything seemed to be dipped in gold. He loved admiring the halo the sun's light made on everything just as it was setting. A beautiful artwork, one only visible on those scarce five minutes.

Arthur looked away from the window and checked the time. A bit past six o'clock. Yes, it was about time he should get going. So he closed the document the art club had sent him to look over and grabbed his pencil case.

As President of the Student Council he was often filled to the brim with work. Because of that, he stayed at school until the sunlight left him, locked away in the Student Council's "office"—which was technically an abandoned Latin classroom—and he worked.

He did everything related to his duty as President, and then worked on his homework, too, because he knew he wouldn't be able to do a bloody thing at home. The Kirkland household was always filled to the very brim, and loud: very, very loud.

So Arthur stayed late everyday, and worked. He also took advantage of this and checked that every club had properly closed down and left just before he left himself. He got out after all of the clubs did, so he made sure to be the last student in school grounds everyday.

Once Arthur was sure everything was in place, he swung his messenger bag, heavy with a couple of books he'd have to finish reading at home, over his shoulder and left the "office".

He walked down the school's hallways, checking that every indoor club had properly left and locked their respective classrooms. All was well.

He walked out into the sports fields, basking in the sun's last golden rays. Every team had gone home, and put all their equipment way. _Good, I'm not running into Jones today. That kid is a pain._

Arthur passed by the indoor gym, a little building made long after the construction of the school, that had been designed to hold an ice rink and some bleachers.

Arthur had never really understood why their school hadn't limited itself to a regular hockey rink instead of an _ice_ hockey one, but Arthur had to admit that at least the team was good; they had brought back a good lot of awards to the school.

_Odd, the lights are on._ Arthur had never really had any trouble with the ice hockey team. _Mainly because it's the only team Jones isn't in._

Yes, the captain was a polite lad, which Arthur couldn't remember the name of for the life of him. Organized and quiet, the captain had never struck him as the type to play ice hockey. He was simply too nice to be an aggressive, loud-mouthed ice hockey player. But Arthur had seen weirder things.

Bloody hell, _what if Jones snuck in here? I bet he's pulling one of his usual pranks together. Damn it I swear if he-_

_Wait, that lad, the ice hockey captain, he asked me permission to use the rink after the hockey practice sometimes. He promised he'd take good care of it, and so far he has. He's probably just stayed until late today and lost track of time. Or left in a hurry and forgot to turn off the lights._

Yes, that must be it. So Arthur, relieved, opened the little gym's door and stepped in.

The first thing Arthur realized was that there was music. Not loud enough to have been heard outside, but loud enough to echo against the walls and the bleachers.

The song playing was Bohemian Rhapsody, by Queen, a song he was actually fond of. _What? Is this actually one of Jones' tricks?_ Trying to be as quiet as possible, Arthur tip-toed through the bleachers until the rink was visible.

What he saw then was something he wouldn't, for the life of him, have ever expected.

The hockey captain, that meek little lad, was skating in the rink. But he wasn't skating like an ice hockey player would: he was figure skating. His wheat-like hair was tied down in a low ponytail, and he was wearing comfortable-looking sports clothing. But instead of looking like he was freezing to death, as Arthur would have expected in this cold, he was sweating, and panting.

The lad stopped. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and kicked at the ice.

_Mama just killed a man. Put a gun against his head..._

The lad seemed to double in on himself, slipping from one end of the rink to the other.

_Pulled my trigger now he's dead._

The blond threw one arm in front of him, the other to his back, kicked at the ice in front of him and practically flew backwards. He crouched down as is he were hurt, bringing his head down to his chest.

_Mama, life had just begun..._

The lad clawed at his chest and seemed to be in pain. Arthur's hair's were on end. The skater's movements were deadly precise, his speed remarkable, and he felt the song so deeply, that the sentiment was practically palpable in the air.

It was one of the purest expressions of art Arthur had ever seen. It was absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.

_But now I've gone and thrown it all away!_

Just as it seemed he was about to crash the opposite end of the rink, he kicked the ice brutally, abruptly changing his course and causing an explosion of tiny snowflakes from the ice. Arthur exhaled in awe.

_Mama, ooooh, didn't mean to make you cry..._

The skater grabbed force and jumped ferociously. He spun once and landed impeccably, one leg high up behind him for balance, and one arm outstretched in front of his face, as if reaching back to where he had come from. The lad spun in a swift circle.

_If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters._

The skater's movements slowed until almost coming to a stop. He looked weighed down, tired from his fury. He crouched down, laid his head on his knees and seemed to sigh.

Arthur's heartbeat was uneven. _He interprets the song bloody damn perfectly. Amazing._

With the piano notes, the lad slowly stood.

_Too late, my time has come... Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time._

He skated morosely, actually seeming as a boy off to his death sentence.

An art lover since birth, Arthur felt like the skater was toying with his heartstrings. He was forced to sit down in face of such beauty, such practice and perfection.

As the song went on, the boy seemed to skate, jump, and twirl on the fine edge dividing athletic skill and artistic expression. The boy, with his lithe frame and beautiful poses seemed to blur that line into oblivion, allowing the opposites to coexist. Opposites to Arthur, at least, because to him art and sport were two different universes.

_I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish I hadn't been born at all!_

The skater's ire was so raw Arthur could almost feel it in his gut. The song and all it's hidden feelings, all it's anguish, hope, rage, sadness, and loss seemed to bleed out of the skater's pores. Every hair on Arthur's body was on it's end, his mouth was dry.

As the song was divided into two "voices" the skater divided himself into two as well: he seemed to shrink when the voice became soft and insecure.

_Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?_

Only to explode into a combination of force, jumps, turns, and energy when the chorus angrily answered the shy voice.

_Bismillah, no! We will not let you go!_

_ Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me!_

The lad seemed to dance along to the guitar, with the lyrics. He jumped, he spun, he kicked harder at the ice, he skated faster. He threw up his arms, kicked a leg in front of him. He filled the rink up with his energy, with his thin body, with his determined attitude.

Then the song slowed to a caress and so did he.

_ Nothing really matters, anyone can see, nothing really matters..._

His breathing slowed down to a doleful sigh. He balanced himself on one foot, and still slipping on the ice hugged the opposite leg, and crouched down into himself, forming a small, lonely ball. He rested his cheek on his knee, and his expression simply broke Arthur's heart.

_ Nothing really matters..._

The lad slowed to a stop almost in the middle of the rink. He looked sad, soft, small, and vulnerable.

_ To me..._

He hid his head between his knees and his shoulders slumped with one last, miserable sigh.

The silence that swallowed the stage was unnaturally loud: it rang in Arthur's ears.

The skater slowly stood, stretched and smiled. He gently skated to the side of the rink opposite to Arthur, breathing heavily.

Arthur's hands were shaking. He wanted to praise and applaud the skater's breathtaking performance, but was unable to. He was frozen: thinking, admiring. He was awed and moved to his very core. He had never seen anything like this.

The song started to sound again, and the lad skated to the center of the rink, no doubt to do his routine again.

And so, time passed. Arthur, hidden, watched the boy skate to Bohemian Rhapsody three more times. Four, five. Each time he was as speechless as the first.

_He is amazing: his precise movements, his speed, his impressive choreography... But above all the raw sentiment he manages to interpret each time, the wide range of emotions he reflects and makes the onlookers feel, makes _me _feel..._

Then a phone started ringing loudly in the middle of the song.

"Oh!" the skater was distracted, he lost his balance and fell. He slurred a curse in his quiet, shy voice, and the contrast was so grand Arthur smiled, amused.

He got up, muttering, and skated over to his cellphone.

"Francis, this better be good" he answered crossly, obviously annoyed at having been interrupted. He turned on the speaker on his cellphone, clicked the device on the neck of his shirt, and paused the music.

"Why _hello_, Mathieu. Manners, petit, manners."

_It's that frog! He knows this lad?_

The skater snorted. He answered sarcastically in a sugar-sweet voice; "Oh, je suis désolé, grand frère." _Ugh, he speaks French. Well, someone so seemingly perfect had to have a fault. _

"I simply cannot believe I was swallowed by the American high school characteristic distaste and indifference!" the lad finished. Arthur bit back a laugh. He had heard the frog say that before: the lad was throwing the frog's words back at his face.

He liked the lad even more now: anyone who made a pass at the frog was in Arthur's good books.

The frog answered, apparently unaffected. "Why yes, Mathieu. You must do a better job at avoiding bad influences."

"You're kidding: I _live_ with a bad influence."

"... Touché."

"Hey, I heard that!" Yelled a voice from the background. Wait... _Is that Jones' voice?_

"Oh, I'm sorry Alfred, I thought you already knew!" The skater practically sang sarcastically. The frog snickered, and the lad smiled.

_So, he bashes the frog _and _Jones? I _really_ like this kid now._

Jones' voice sounded closer to the phone when he yelled: "Yeah, pretty boy, keep that up and I'll use your hockey stick tomorrow at baseball practice!"

"Then I'll burn your Captain America toy." The lad answered without missing a beat, still skating easily in circles around the rink.

"It's not a toy, Mattie! I've told you a bazillion times, it's an action figu—"

"Alfred, give me back my phone!" The frog's voice was heard in the background.

The skater laughed softly, a sweet, warm sound, as if this were something he lived on a daily basis. Arthur couldn't help but smile at that quiet, beautiful sound.

A thud was heard. Then the frog's voice: "Pardon me, Mathieu, but you know your brother."

Brother. _Brother._ This lad was Alfred F. Jones' brother?! Arthur looked closely at the lad. He hadn't really noticed before, too awed by the skater's performance, but his face was actually quite similar to Jones'.

_Impossible: Jones is loud and rude, and this kid is quiet and polite. Jones speaks as if he had a megaphone taped to his mouth, and this lad speaks in a soft, sweet voice. Jones is boisterous, unorganized, and always looking for trouble: in the few conversations I've had with this kid, due to him being the ice hockey team captain, he's been nothing but polite, responsible, neat, and organized._

The skater's face was very alike to Jones'... but the same time not at all like it. After a bit, while the lad spoke with the frog and Jones yelled in the background, Arthur saw why.

The skater's expressions and Jones' expressions were nothing alike. Jones' were more grotesque, grand, and exaggerated, while the skater's expressions were sincere, quaint, charming, delicate, shy, and sweet.

As Arthur heard the lad talk he realized the skater was often sarcastic, quick as a whip, and very smart: he sounded like someone who read a lot of books.

"Mathieu, are there by any chance any windows in that rink of yours?"

"Hmm?" he sounded distracted, and it was absolutely adorable. "No, why?"

"Ah, well that explains it."

The lad sounded annoyed when he answered, "Explains what, Francis?"

"Why you're so late. It's a quarter to seven."

The reaction was immediate: "What?!" The skater yelled, then kicked the ice abruptly, and quickly started heading over to the rink's exit.

"Oui, Mathieu, it is dark out already. Tante Madeleine will be home soon."

"Merde! I have to make it home before Mama does!" The skater's movements were frantic, hurried, and nervous. It looked like he had been suddenly kicked way out of his comfort zone. He was stumbling as he took off his skates.

Arthur wasn't particularly worried about the late hour; his mother would be too occupied arranging dinner for him, his dad, his brothers, his uncles, his cousins, and the guests.

Yes, the guests: every night some person seemed to invite someone over, and they often had from two to seven guests for dinner, or to pass the afternoon, or to stay the night.

The Kirkland household was known for it's hospitality, and he always came home to a different set of fifteen to thirty, in the worst of cases, people.

Well, his mother loved cooking, and his father liked having guests. Between the two of them they had five brothers and sisters, which meant Arthur had five pairs of uncles. Each pair was married and with at least two children. And they were always invited over for dinner, if they wanted to show up.

Arthur himself had five older brothers and one younger brother, and even though he loved them to death, not that he'd ever admit it openly, they fought. A lot. Even though all of the older ones were either in college or had already graduated, at least one or two came home for dinner almost every night, and sometimes even stayed the night.

Now, all these people didn't come every single night, but just half of them were enough to give the average person a headache. And every night at least half of them, plus guests, came over for dinner.

This "having family over at home" had gotten to such an extreme point that their family even chipped in and helped his mother pay for buying meals at home.

Arthur smiled. He may seem cold and arrogant, aloof, and the type of person that preferred being alone, but he loved the way his house filled up absolutely every night. He's loved it his whole life, ever since he was a child.

Then again, he simply couldn't concentrate on schoolwork at home. But he didn't mind staying at school everyday for so long; to him it had become a second home.

He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the skater had already grabbed all his belongings. He had slipped on a cozy-looking, thick sweater, a couple sizes too big on him, and had wrapped a scarf loosely around his neck. The lad was swinging his backpack onto his back, and grabbing his cellphone.

"I'm done here, Francis. I won't be long. Take care of Kumajimu for me, make sure he and Alfred don't end up killing each other."

"Do hurry. À bientôt, mon cher." The lad clicked the call off and put the phone in his back pocket. He grabbed his glasses from another pocket and slipped them onto his face.

_Oh, so he uses glasses, like Jones._

But, again, the glasses suited him differently. The lad's glasses were oval-shaped, and slid down his thin, curved nose.

He looked up, and suddenly stopped. His face paled.

Arthur was confused, until he realized. _He saw me. _Arthur stood up abruptly.

The skater looked like he couldn't believe something. "Arthur?" he asked. He came closer, until they were only a couple feet apart.

A moment of tense silence followed, in which the skater's face went from shock to realization, and the embarrassment. Then he hurriedly spoke.

"I'm sorry! I am so, so sorry! It got so late, and I didn't n-notice! It's just I— My alarm, it was my alarm! My alarm d-didn't go off!" The boy was stuttering out apologies, his voice high, embarrassed, and squeaky. He stepped closer, hunched his back and gestured wildly with his hands.

But all Arthur could notice was how red his face had gotten, and the little freckles on the bridge of his nose. The gentle curve of his eyebrows, twisted upward in worry. That he had let his hair loose from his ponytail, and how it lay around his face, framing it beautifully. How, when he stopped speaking, he bit his lip.

Arthur suddenly realized he should speak. He felt his cheeks redden. "How do you know my name?"

Oh, _of course_, he just had to spit out something stupid.

The kid's eyes widened, his cheeks got redder, and he looked mortified. "Uh, um, well, you're the, um, t-the school's President this year? And I mean, um, we've t-talked before. Oh, but you probably d-don't remember me at all..."

He kept mumbling, looking sad, and Arthur felt downright awful. _Of course he knows your name, Arthur: he actually took the time to remember it, unlike you, you twat._

"I'm sorry," Arthur started, using his diplomacy skills "It wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable. I'm still amazed that the whole student community knows who I am, is all. But of course I remember you, you're the captain of the ice hockey team, we've talked before."

"Heh, y-yeah..." the skater looked away and bit his lip. Arthur noticed something: the lad had reverted to his usual shy self, the quiet, polite student Arthur had seen a couple of times before. Arthur realized he wanted the skater to talk to him like he had to that frog and Jones: relaxed, sarcastic, and charming.

Arthur wanted to get to know that beautiful artist he'd seen in that rink, and wanted for him to feel comfortable around him.

"I'm sorry, really. I-I know you have a really full agenda, and you can't go a-around wasting time on me—"

"Please, don't belittle yourself." Arthur said before he could stop himself.

"Hmm?"

"You are an artist. What you did on that rink is something I had never seen before: it awed me in a way art had never awed me to this day. The performance was flawless, and the emotion you imprinted on it breathtaking."

The lad seemed to blush brighter, if it was even possible. "You... you saw m-me?"

_Bloody hell, nice way to sound like a complete stalker, Kirkland! You soddy idiot..._

"I did, actually. I'm sorry if it was intrusive on my part."

"No, it's—it's okay. It's fine, I just, um, I'm not used to getting such g-good critiques." He smiled bashfully and tucked some hair behind his ear. Arthur was drawn to his hand's movement.

The lad seemed to suddenly remember he was in a hurry. "Oh! I—I have to go, but I promise I won't forget to leave early again!" The lad made his way to the door in a rush as he spoke. "And, can I p-please still use the rink? It's technically not for ice hockey, but, but I a-always take good care of it, a-and I—"

Arthur held up a hand to quiet him. "It's quite alright. You haven't broken the agreement we signed in regards to that."

The skater, already holding the door open, sighed in relief. "Thank you, r-really, thank you very much A-Arthur." He smiled sweetly, and Arthur couldn't help but smile back.

"Um, p-please turn off the lights! The main, um, switch is back—"

"I know where it is, lad, I'll get that for you."

He smiled again. "Thanks again, Arthur, um, good n-night, I guess. I'll, um, see you around, ho-hopefully."

"Cheerio, lad."

The lad chuckled softly, and left. Arthur inhaled slowly, filling in his lungs, and exhaled. He knew it wasn't ideal to get too involved with anyone from school, but this kid... He piqued Arthur's interest. He was beautiful, and his personality seemed complex. He seemed interesting to discover, to get to know better.

But Arthur was afraid he'd get in too deep if he tried getting to know this lad. Already he seemed to be developing a "crush", as the Americans call it, on this kid. By the Queen, he didn't even know his name!

He growled lowly and turned to go switch off the lights.

He'd barely taken a step when the doors burst open again. The skated was leaning on them, his nose red from the chill, and panting from what seemed to have been a run. "A-Arthur, um, sorry to bother you again but... C-Can you please, just, um, not tell anyone? P-Please?"

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't even considered telling anyone else. He realized he selfishly wanted to keep this precious work of art to himself. But he smiled, trying to cover up his thoughts. "No problem. You have my word."

The lad smiled, relieved. This smile was different than the other's Arthur had seen on him; instead of being sweet and bashful, it was wide, showing his teeth, and it seemed to glow with pure happiness. Arthur found himself smiling, too.

"Thank you! I knew I could count on you—" The lad broke off mid-sentence, as if realizing he'd said something embarrassing. His cheeks were red in a matter of seconds. "I—I mean, it's just, y-you know. Everyone's always saying it, how you're such a gentleman." He buried his face in his hands. "Oh Dieu, I mean, you a-always seem so righteous, and polite, b-but—you know what? I should _really_ shut up now—"

Arthur had to bite back a chuckle, for he knew it would mortify the lad even more. But he simply looked so adorable.

"And you say you're the one to receive many positive critiques today." Arthur said.

The lad looked up at him, eyes wide.

Arthur tried his best to look calm and smiled gently, wanting to avoid making the kid feel so mortified. He felt as if he were trying to approach a wild rabbit, one that might hop off at any moment. "It's quite alright, lad, thank you for the compliments. Don't worry about a thing, I'll keep your secret safe, and I haven't been offended by anything you've said. No need to be shy or worried, really."

The skater seemed to relax, and smiled softly. "Thank you. I-I'm sorry, I'm just not really good at meeting, um, n-new people. But you r-really are kind. Thanks again. I, uh, I really have to go, but, I, um, we should—I mean, n-never mind, um, see you soon!"

The lad left so quickly, Arthur couldn't even mutter a goodbye. _We should—I mean, never mind_. Those words were stuck in Arthur's head as he turned of the lights and locked up the ice rink. They stuck with him all the way home.

_I wonder what he was going to say..._

* * *

School was a blur the next day. One of those days that seemed to slip by your fingers without you even noticing. It was afternoon already, and Arthur was sitting in the Student Council's "office". All members of the Council were present, and they were in an unofficial meeting, discussing some changes that would be applied to the school's fund-raising strategies.

Arthur wasn't quite participative this particular meeting. Kiku Honda, the Council member in charge of inter-school relations, who was always sensing the mood, noticed.

He leaned closer, but not too close, never too close, to Arthur and greeted him: "Hello, Arthur-san. How are you? You seem distant today."

Arthur seemed to be pulled out of his thoughts. "Hmm? Oh, hello Kiku. I'm quite fine, thank you for asking. I'm simply tired. Peter, the little brat, kept me up until one am."

"Peter? Your little brother?"

"Yes. He's gotten obsessed over some Japanese cartoons, or animations. I can't ever seem to remember the name."

Kiku barely smiled at Arthur's usual poor name memorization ability, and his usual careless personality. "Anime, perhaps?"

"Yes! Yes, anime." Arthur seemed to realize something. "Oh, you must be familiar with it." _Soddy idiot, he's Japanese. You probably just offended him in some way._

Kiku closed his eyes and smiled a very small smile. Arthur's distress was obvious on his face.

Kiku quite liked Arthur-san: he was raised well, quite the British gentleman, always polite and attentive, but it was in his nature to be thick-headed, forgetful, and even rude or arrogant at times. It was a comical contrast. But you could tell he always meant well.

Besides, Kiku had always liked a tsundere.

"Indeed, I know of anime. If your brother ever needs a recommendation or someone to talk to, you can tell him to write to me, instead of bothering you, Arthur-san." Kiku knew Arthur loved his brother to bits, even if he was "an annoying, ungrateful, devilish brat", in the President's words. He also knew of the President's weakness to small children: he was simply a mother type...

_Kiku, concentrate. It would be troublesome for your otaku senses to kick in._

"Oh, don't worry, Kiku, I wouldn't want to impose. But thank you, anyway" the President's voice awoke Kiku from his musings.

"Alright, but if Peter ever really gets on your nerves, I have no problem making a list of good animes for him to watch."

Arthur chuckled good-naturedly, and Kiku couldn't help but remember—_In the doujin I was reading yesterday Saku made that same face when Ichijo asked him what—_

Kiku suddenly realized he'd been comparing the President's expression to one he'd seen on a yaoi yesterday.

It was a good thing Kiku was a master at disguising his feelings, or else his whole face would be on fire by then.

_But I have to wonder, would Arthur-san be a seme or an uke? Because he could be the dominant type with his arrogance, strength, and determination. With his English-gentleman-like personality he could woo anyone. But he has a hidden sensitive side that might make him submit rather than—_

Kiku took a deep breath and forced his otaku sense to vanish. He could not afford to get distracted now.

Arthur's voice startled him. "Kiku? You alright, mate?"

_Conceal, don't feel; don't let them know..._

"Ah, yes, Arthur-san. I was simply lost in thought."

"Alright!" Ludwig Beilschmidt's voice rang across the "office". "It is time to move on to the next subject of the meeting! Remember, each person only has four minutes to express their..."

Ludwig's official charge at the student council was to coordinate every sports-related extracurricular activity, but he also occupied the unofficial position of organizing and mediating all their meetings. The German student was extremely organized, and it was thanks to him that the council managed to successfully do its job.

After reminding everyone of the instructions to speak and ask questions, Ludwig opened the next topic. "Alright, we must speak of the upcoming sporting season. This year our school was chosen to host six minor inter-school sporting events, and three major inter-school sporting events, which would be the basketball, baseball, and ice-hockey season finales.

"Up until now this has been their progress: of the minor events only two haven't already occurred, and their execution has already been planned. Everything to be done there has already been taken care of.

"Of the major events: the baseball season finale will be in two days. It is heavily encouraged for all members of the Council to attend and show their support, so no slacking! All of you must attend. Next week will be the basketball season finale, for which preparations have already been met.

"Our problem is the ice-hockey final match. It is in two weeks, and we haven't even sent the ministry the rules and regulations document needed to proceed. The ministry has already sent all the conditions we must meet if our school's rink wishes to be used in the final match of the season. We must go to the rink, do the measurements, check the ice's consistency, the equipment's condition..." Ludwig sighed and rubbed his temple, overwhelmed by the amount of work left to be done.

Yao Wang, the Treasurer, raised his hand to speak. Once Ludwig nodded, giving him permission to talk, he asked. "Isn't that the ice hockey team's responsibility?"

"Not exactly." Ludwig answered. "Their captain, Matthew Williams, approached me in school today, and asked me if the rink had been approved as the location of the final match. He said he was concerned, because these are only two weeks left and no one had come to the rink to test it yet.

"I was confused, and looked into the subject. What happened was that the documents were archived in the wrong place." Ludwig threw a particularly scary glare to Feliciano Vargas, the one in charge of organizing and archiving all the Council's official documents. The poor Italian whimpered.

Arthur, who had been particularly interested in the conversation since the ice hockey captain had been mentioned, raised his hand and spoke. "Did the lad, the ice hockey captain, say anything else? Anything relevant?"

"Yes," Ludwig answered. "He offered his help with anything we might need. He told us to stop by the ice rink any day during practice to see that all the conditions are met. He said he could even help us with the tests and measurements.

"And also, we have to sit through an ice hockey practice to see that the team abides by the rules as they play, like we did with the baseball and basketball teams before their respective tournaments. This evaluation of the team is an obligatory condition in order to host a tournament, however pointless it may be."

"We as in the whole student council?" Feliciano, who was also the founder of the siesta club, asked.

"No, just me and someone else representing the council." Ludwig answered. "For the past evaluations Yao and Kiku accompanied me. This time, it should be someone else to compromise."

"I'll go." said Arthur.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Everyone turned to look at the President. None of them was a stranger to Arthur's indifference to sporting events. Whenever sports were involved, the President simply laid back.

"Don't look at me like that," Arthur growled, irritated at everyone's shock "I'm the President and it's my bloody job to offer myself up to help the school, you gits."

Ludwig, knowing not to reject an opportunity when it was offered, nodded. "Alright. Ice hockey starts in about fifteen minutes. If you're free today, would you mind getting it out of the way? We're terribly behind schedule."

"Alright, today we'll go then. Anything else on the matter?"

"Nein, that was all I had due to say at today's meeting." Ludwig answered. "Anyone else?"

"Mmm". A muffled sound was uttered by Heracles Karpusi, the Council member in charge of coordinating every art-related extracurricular activity. He was napping, as usual.

At first glance, you'd never believe he was a member of the Student Council. He didn't work a lot, was messy, and never seemed to be able to stay awake, but when that kid woke up it was like having Aristotle reincarnated in the room**. **He was a _genius. _

Seeing nothing more to be done, the meeting ended, and each member of the Council parted ways.

* * *

"Come on! Move your feet and get on the ice!" Matthew yelled. "We haven't got all day!"

Gilbert Beilschmidt, the ice hockey team's right winger, snickered. "Getting into Captain-Mode so early?"

Matthew sent him a death glare and skated away, off to yell at the ice hockey team members lounging on the other side.

Now, everyone in the team knew about Matthew's "Captain-Mode". Matt was well-liked by everyone; a shy guy at first, but as he started feeling comfortable around you he was funny, sarcastic, and never one to get tired easily. He was adorable, sweet, and polite, but he wasn't an idiot.

But, Matt took ice hockey very, _very_ seriously. When playing he was competitive, aggressive, and brutal. He was deadly precise, knew how to deal a killing blow, and could resist almost any blow dealt at him. He was extremely good at the sport, the very best of them all. That was why he was chosen captain of the team.

When Matt went into Captain-Mode he was ruthless, insistent, and oddly motivational. He was a natural leader: compelling, authoritative, awing, and inspiring. He was someone whose bad side you didn't want to get on, and someone you wouldn't dare disobey.

"I'm serious, team! Ludwig told me he'd probably come today to evaluate the team, and we _must_ excel if we want our rink to host the final match of the season! So shake the laziness off those asses and _move_!"

The team hurried after that. An angry Matthew wasn't pretty, and they didn't want to anger him today.

Once everyone was on the rink, Matthew started the warm-up routine. As they stretched and skated, Matthew spoke.

"Alright, listen up. Tomorrow is our next match, the semi-finals." Matthew spoke in a deep, half-yelled voice. Everyone's eyes were on him. "If we win it, we will classify in the finals, which means we will play in our own school!" The excitement in his voice was contagious, and his grin quickly spread onto the rest of the team's faces.

"Do you all know what that means? If we do good, we'll have a chance to win the tournament in our own school! That's huge! It would be the first time our school has won an ice hockey season, _in our own rink_!"

A couple of members exclaimed at the captain's words. The ice hockey team was _good_, and they knew it. To win a season, and in their own rink, to boot, is one of the greatest honors any school sports team could have.

"So basically," Gilbert Beilschmidt chipped in, yelling as he always did "If we win these things, our awesomeness will be undisputed!"

The team, all smiles and excitement, cheered. They'd make school history if they managed to win.

Matthew laughed, happy to see his team in such high spirits. _This is what we need: encouragement, energy, and lots of practice._

"Alright, then! Ready to—" Matthew's statement was interrupted by the door opening. The whole team turned to see who had come in.

Indeed, it was Ludwig who was entering.

Gilbert smirked. "What an entrance, baby bro."

Ludwig shot him an icy death glare. Gilbert snickered, happy to have pissed his brother off.

Matthew rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless at Gilbert's antics. "Hi, Ludwig. We're all warmed up and ready for the evaluation. What are we starting with?"

Before answering, Ludwig turned around, and gestured at someone. Arthur appeared at the doorway. "Sorry for having you wait up, my brother called me up."

Matthew swallowed dryly, and felt his cheeks redden.

_Sweet maple, why him? Why does it have to be Arthur? I'll barely be able to concentrate... But no, focus Williams. This is ice hockey we're talking about. No excuses allowed: focus. Think of the team._

He took a deep breath and looked back at Ludwig and Arthur, who were now taking a seat at the very first bleachers.

_What did he think? I wonder... Did he really like my routine so much?_

Yeah, concentration seemed like a lost cause for poor Matthew. Nevertheless, he wasn't giving up so easily.

"So, Ludwig, what do we do first?" he asked again.

"Oh, first is individual work. Then confrontation between two individuals, and last comes a match practice. Remember to act as if it were a normal practice: neither Arthur nor I are supposed to talk. It's as if we weren't even here."

Matthew nodded. He took a deep breath, tried his best to ignore Arthur's steady emerald gaze, and turned around to face his team.

"You heard him! We're all warmed up and ready, now stand in line at the far end of the rink. I'll call your names one by one and give you instructions."

"Warmed up and ready for what exactly, captain?" Gilbert purred. The team laughed.

Matthew, used to Gilbert's PG-13 rated comments, simply glared at him. "Ready for me to stick the puck up your ass, Beilschmidt. Now move." The captain answered.

Gilbert snickered, but complied. Matthew smiled: he and Gilbert's banters were part of the hockey practice. Actually, everyone would always jokingly try to get on his nerves, and Matthew told them off. It was simply how the ice hockey team functioned. Everyone messed with everybody in good fun, and then they'd all laugh, and simply go back to practice.

Once they were all in line, Matthew spoke. "Alright, seeing Gil's especially ready and willing, you're up first."

Gilbert smiled that lecherous, cocky smile of his and easily skated over to the center of the rink, where Matthew was.

The captain, already in a competitive mood, passed him a stick, and then the puck. "Try to keep me from grabbing the puck."

Gilbert nodded. "Whenever you're ready, captain."

Matthew got in position, as did Gilbert. "Three, two, one..." Matthew whispered.

It was like unleashing a beast.

Gilbert and Matthew were both good: centered, and focused. They lasted about a minute until Matthew took the puck from Gilbert.

"Well done, Gil" Matthew said, panting. Gilbert nodded, breathing heavily also.

The two newest members of the team were in awe at seeing Matthew use his ice hockey ability. The kid was truly amazing at playing. The rest of the team admired their captain, but were already more used to seeing him on ice.

Matthew smiled. He wasn't a show-off, and as the captain he always tried to get everyone to play to their very best efforts, even if that meant limiting his own talent at some practices. But that didn't mean he didn't feel honored whenever people recognized his ability and effort.

"Alright, what did we see here?" Matthew started, getting into Captain-Mode again. "We saw Gilbert had a very good use of his skinny shoulders to make me lose my balance. He channels his strength from his legs, to his torso, and uses it to deliver a powerful blow. To do that he has to have a very, very good base, which means his feet are firm on the ice.

"Remember; you can only attack your opponent when he is in possession of the puck. And you can never, ever, make a body check to the head. Avoid doing a body check to the back if your opponent is facing the boards.

"And careful with where you put your stick—" Matthew ignored Gilbert's _"Seriously Mattie? You couldn't find a better way to word that?"_ "Because if you trip, hook, or even _touch_ a player who doesn't have the puck, you'll get a penalty faster than a moose can run in front of a car."

"Why the sudden rule reminder, captain?" asked one the team members.

"Well, first, 'cause of the evaluation, duh." Gilbert chuckled and Matthew was tempted to flip him off. He was being particularly annoying today. "And second, 'cause at tomorrow's match, we'll be having Roderich Edelstein as our referee."

The team seemed to groan as a whole.

"What? What's so bad about this Roderich guy?" one of the newest team members asked.

Matthew suppressed a groan. "Let's just say that the guy once gave Gil a minor penalty for sneezing on top of the puck before the game started, claiming that _"a part of Gilbert touched the puck before the whistle was blown, even if that part was only a drop of saliva" _".

Yeah, it was easy to understand why the team hated that particular referee.

Gilbert spat on the ice. "Damn bastard. And his voice gives me a fucking headache, too."

"Oi, Gilbert, you might want to keep your saliva to yourself, just in case." another member of the team yelled.

Matthew couldn't help but laugh along with the rest of the team.

"Okay, but in all seriousness," Matthew said "The guy follows the rules more religiously than my aunt Françoise follows Paris' runways, and you _all_ know just how committed she is."

That was memory the ice hockey team thought best to leave untouched.

"So, back to Gil's performance: very well put-together, nice concentration, good channelizing of strength, and good balance. Just remember to stick to the rules, because Roderich will already have his eye well set on you, Gil."

"Yeah, his eye and that wart of his."

"Next," Matthew cut him off "I'll be goalie: try to get the puck in twice in two minutes."

"Geez, captain, so intimate already? In front of everyone?" Gilbert taunted Matthew as they skated to the net.

"Gil, the only reason I'm not flipping you off is because as the captain I'm supposed to be on my best behavior. But don't underestimate me."

Gilbert snickered, that awkward "kesese" of his, and nodded. "Ready, capt'n"

"Three, two, one..."

Like last time, Matthew pointed out to the rest of the team what Gilbert's fortes had been, and told Gilbert what he could do better, or had to watch out for.

One by one Matthew called all the team's members and did the same individual evaluation to all of them.

When they were done, Matthew congratulated them for their effort, and let them drink water.

Once everyone was back, the captain spoke. "Alright, team. Now comes the confrontation between two individuals. That's fancy-shmancy for two of you come here, each takes one net, and you try to score into the other's net. Each pair will have four minutes. Any questions?"

"Who's playing with you, s—?"

"I will" interrupted Gilbert. "Since the captain's so fixated on me today."

Matthew snorted. "Fine. First up you two," he said, signaling to two players. "Now, go. Ideally each player must score at least two goals."

"But our training program was underfunded." Gilbert added "Remember, it's not about whether you win or lose—"

Matthew elbowed Gilbert in the ribs, he simply couldn't resist. "Enough QWOP references."

Gilbert snickered that creepy _kesese_ laugh of his and swung his arm over Matthew's shoulders. "Pure genius, that game. I laughed so much I cried."

Matthew rolled his eyes and shook Gilbert off of him. "You two ready?" Both team members, each at their respective net, nodded. Matthew signaled everyone else to leave the ice, tossed the puck to the center, and whistled, signaling the two to start.

The next stage of the evaluation went by smoothly. When it was time for a match-like practice, Matthew split the ten team members, himself included, into two groups of five and signaled to play.

When the practice time ended, he congratulated the team for their performance. He told them to drink a lot of water, rest well, and take care.

He was going to make his way over to Ludwig and Arthur—_oh God, Arthur, I forgot he was even here! What did he think of everything? What...?_—but he was interrupted by the door basically blasting open.

"Yo! Bro! What's up?"

_Great. Fantastic. Just perfect._ Matthew groaned. "Alfreeeed, I've told you a million times not to kick the door open like that! You can break as many doors as you want, but not the one to my ice rink!"

Alfred laughed. "Dude, _your_ rink? That door is school property, and the school's rulebook states that school property belongs to every student. So technically, if we divide the mass of the door by the amount of students in the school, that door is approximately only 0.00376% yours. But that also makes it 0.00376% mine! So joke's on you!"

"I get the point, Alfred." Matthew cut him off. He loved his brother, really, he did, but he was a walking headache. "What're you doing here?"

"Came to say hi to my little bro!" Alfred had managed to make his way over to Matthew, and was now rubbing his head enthusiastically. Matthew growled and aimed to punch his face. Alfred just laughed. "See? That's just how much of an awesome big bro I am."

"Would it kill you to speak in proper English?" Matthew said "Give a try to using complete words?"

Matthew swore he heard Arthur snort. It made his heart beat a little faster. _Did he laugh at my joke?_

"Nah, dude, I'm just fine like this."

"Yeah, right—"

"Aha! I also came to tell you I convinced Frannie to stay 'till now to give us a ride home!" Of course Alfred would have interrupted him.

"Francis is still staying at your place?" Gilbert, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, asked.

"Indeed, I am." Francis answered, coming into the rink.

Matthew exhaled a quiet moan in exasperation. _Francis too? Damn it, and just when I have a valid excuse to speak to Arthur, too!_

As Francis, Gilbert and Alfred spoke, Matthew took a quick peek to where Ludwig and Arthur were. They seemed to be discussing something over a few pages of paper Ludwig was holding. They didn't seem to want to leave the bleachers yet. _Good._

Suddenly, Arthur's steady emerald gaze came up to meet Matthew's. Matthew blushed and looked away. _Did he feel me watching him? God, now I probably look like an obsessed weirdo stalking him._

_ Or... Maybe, he was sneaking peeks at me too?_

"Mattie, dude. Helloooooo. Earth to Matt!" Alfred's loud voice made Matthew blink.

"What?"

"You totally weren't listening bro! That was so uncool of you!"

Gilbert laughed, Francis rolled his eyes.

"What were you telling me, Al?" Matthew asked, feeling sorry at not having paid any attention to his brother.

"I'm hooking up later tonight with Kiku via online to play that awesome new scary video game we've been playing this week." _Great, looks like Alfred's sleeping in my room again tonight... If Kumajiro lets him pass. _"Any-who, Gil's coming over to play with us! Frannie's giving us all a ride home now. Wanna come along?"

Matthew smiled. He loved it when his brother paid attention to him and included him in his plans. Alfred was very annoying, but he could also be very sweet. He was simply one of those people you couldn't hate.

"Al, I'll catch up to you all later. I'm staying late today. Thanks, really, I might even play with you when I get home, if you want."

Alfred looked sad at his brother's refusal. Matthew absolutely _hated_ making Alfred sad: he looked like a lost, kicked puppy when he got sad. So Matthew tried to cheer him up by adding, "Hey, when I get home I'll make sweet-powdered maple cookies. Does that sound good?"

That did the trick. "Bro, you're the best!" Alfred grabbed Matthew by the neck in what appeared to be a death grip, but was really only a hug.

"Ah, we're getting the captain's awesome cookies? Awesome!" Gilbert said. Matthew was known for his superb cooking skills: especially where maple syrup was involved.

"Your speaking skills and rich vocabulary blow me off my feet, Gil." Matthew said, dead-panned.

"I hate to interrupt, but I have to go or I'll miss my show." No one was quite sure what show it was Francis watched every day, but they didn't really want to find out. "If any of you _mongrels_ are coming with me, then we're off."

Alfred turned back to Matthew. "You sure you're staying, bro?"

"Yeah, Al. Go have fun, I'll catch up later." _Al's so sweet when he's worried about me._

"Well, in that case, I'm counting on those cookies later!" _... Then again, Al can be such a pig..._

"Yo, West!" Gilbert yelled to Ludwig "I'll get home late. Text mich, falls etwas passiert, okay?" _Text me in anything happens, okay?_

Ludwig looked up from his annotations on the ice hockey team's evaluation. He saw his brother, saw Alfred Jones, and saw Francis Bonnefoy. _Oh, he's off with those two, to do God knows what..._

Ludwig nodded curtly. "Ja. Spaß haben, bruder." _Yes. Have fun, brother. _

Gilbert smiled. He leaned over to tell Alfred something, and then he and Alfred were out the door in a second, probably racing to see who got to the car first.

Francis watched them go in amusement, and then sighed. He turned to Matthew. "Je peux vous aider à faire les biscuits, Mathieu." _I can help you make the cookies, Matthew._

Matthew smiled gratefully. "Merci, grand frère." He even added "big brother" to his thanks, knowing Francis loved being called that.

Francis could only smile at his little Mathieu's cuteness. _That child is too adorable for his own good._

"See you at home, petit."

Matthew smiled. "See you then."

When Francis left, Matthew exhaled in relief. He made his way over to Ludwig and Arthur. He swallowed, suddenly nervous, when Arthur's eyes came up to meet his.

_Focus, Williams, hockey's your priority right now. Just focus on that..._

Of course the first thing Matthew did was apologize. "Sorry for that. Heh, family, you know? What can you do?"

Arthur chuckled softly. "Don't trouble yourself, mate. I think we can both relate to that."

Ludwig groaned in agreement. Matthew giggled. "Gil must be one remarkable older brother."

"Indeed." The German nodded, "You're no stranger to his antics."

"Yes." Matthew saw a chance and, bracing himself, turned to Arthur. "And you, Arthur? Any, uh, _interesting_, big brothers?"

Arthur laughed, and for a moment Matthew feared he had made a fool out of himself. "More like an _interesting_ family. I have five insufferable older brothers and a brat of a younger brother."

"Whoa." Matthew had no idea "It must be a full house."

"Like you wouldn't believe. Because to top all that off, we have family scattered all around the globe in massive clans, and every single night we have at least ten people over for dinner. And that's without counting guests."

Even Ludwig seemed surprised. "I knew you had a large family, but really?"

The Brit, entertained at the other two's shock, answered. "Remember the time we had an emergency Council meeting at my house? How I said it had to be in the morning because that was when everyone was asleep? And how nonetheless at least fifteen people interrupted us, and about a party of twenty arrived for lunch? All of them were family."

Ludwig's eyebrows shot up, he was speechless. Matthew laughed. "It must be fun when the whole family gets together."

Arthur smiled "Whenever we can we all go to the Bahamas in the summer, and all the family gets together. That means the England clan, the India clan, the Australian clan, us here in America, and the folks over at the Bahamas. And sometimes even more people come over. It's always about a hundred of us in those summer days."

"Amazing." Matthew said. Arthur's eyes had lightened up as he spoke. Matthew could see by the way he spoke that those were memories dear to him. He could almost imagine Arthur stuck in the middle of all those people, out in a beach somewhere, joking and having fun.

Ludwig shook his head in disbelief. It must be chaos in those vacations. "Well, back to the evaluation."

Matthew bit his lower lip, upset that his small window of opportunity had closed so quickly. But he took his duty as captain seriously, so with one last longing look at Arthur, Matthew turned to Ludwig, all business.

"Did we get enough points? I mean, I know we can be a little foul-mouthed sometimes, but I let absolutely everything pass because you said to make this an everyday, normal practice" Matthew said.

"No, everything's quite alright. Besides, I know my bruder well enough to know you can actually handle him pretty well." Ludwig looked up to Matthew. "He respects you, you know. They all do. You're an excellent captain for this team."

Matthew smiled widely, surprised, but pleased. He blushed at the compliment. When someone as serious and scary-looking as Ludwig gave you such an ovation, it was hard not to be absolutely flattered. "Your team's evaluation is one to be proud of, captain, as is your own."

Matthew felt warm. _It's nice to have your efforts be rewarded every once in a while._ "Thank you. Really, you don't know how much that means to me. I try my hardest out there."

Arthur, seeing such an adorable display of humility on Matthew's side, simply couldn't resist adding to Ludwig's statement. "It's true, you know. You're quite a shy lad, but out there you put yourself away and instead focus adapting yourself to the team, and work to make it a better unit."

Arthur continued, even as Matthew's cheeks reddened. "You focus on every single member's strengths and weaknesses, but you're also very aware of always making them feel like a team, and not like nine individual players. You have quite the leader skills, chap, and you know how to use them." Arthur smiled.

Matthew's eyes were open wide, his cheeks flushed, and his lips were parted open. He couldn't quite believe it, he couldn't think clearly, and much less speak.

_Arthur, the guy I've had a crush on for more than a year, is not only noticing me, but also complimenting me?! Two days in a row?! _It seemed too good to be true.

"Oh, I, um, th-thank you." Matthew tried covering up his awe. "I-I'm sorry, I'm just not, um, quite used to—Dieu. I'm sorry, I, um, new people just m-make me, uh, nervous."

_Well, nice way of screwing it up, Williams._

Ludwig, shy himself, understood Matthew's pain. He said to Arthur "Yes, Matthew's more coherent to me because he's more used to being around me."

Matthew didn't know if to thank him, or if to be more embarrassed. He opted to look down at his feet.

Arthur chuckled softly. "It's quite alright. Really, there's no need to be embarrassed, lad."

_This is why I like Arthur. Dieu, he's such a gentleman, and he can be so nice, and so considerate..._

Ludwig stood. "Well, now all that's left are the measurements."

Matthew looked back up. "Oh, no actually. I, um, well, I already took them, before the team arrived. So I could, um, save you time."

"Oh, thank you." Ludwig said. He's always liked it when he dealt with the shy Canadian: he was neat, organized, and knew how to act formally when it was necessary. He was definitely the best of the sports' captains Ludwig had to deal with.

Besides, Matthew was a close friend of Gilbert's, and had often come over to their house, so Ludwig knew the Canadian more personally. Which was a blessing when it came to the poor boy's shyness, because it meant Matthew felt comfortable enough around him to act normally, and not trip over his every word.

Matthew fetched the stack of papers where he'd jotted down all the rink's measurements and handed it to Ludwig. The German quickly looked them over. "Are the measurements for the nets here, too? And has the ice's condition been tested?"

"Mmhmm," the quiet Canadian hummed. He pointed out a couple of things on the papers. "This is everything that has to do with the nets, and down here are the tests we had taken for the ice. We had them done last month. Here's the signature and permission of the company that came to do them."

Ludwig nodded. "Well, as always, it's a pleasure to work with you, Matthew."

The Canadian closed his eyes and laughed softly. "Same here, Ludwig. Oh, and Gilbert's going to be at my house tonight, playing video games. If you get bored, you're welcome to come over." Matthew liked Ludwig; he was a great person to have long conversations with. "Besides, I'll be making cookies, if you want any."

Ludwig smiled. "Thank you. If I get off work early I'll pass by your house."

Arthur bit down on the inside of his cheek. _How easily the lad made plans with Ludwig. Just a couple of words and Ludwig's going over to his house tonight. They'll probably play video games, eat cookies, and have an amazing time. The lad simply smiled and invited him, no stuttering, no blushing. Why couldn't it have been me? Why does he have to get so flustered around _me_?_

With a start, Arthur realized he was jealous.

_ I've got to get a grip over myself. I swore to never get too involved with anyone at school, especially if he was a man. I'd rather avoid any rumors, and I've done well enough until now._

But Matthew was so interesting. Arthur simply couldn't help himself.

First, he met a quiet, polite lad, with whom he'd had to converse a couple of times due to their positions as President and captain. Then one day he suddenly saw an artist, a beautiful, precise, impacting ice skater. Later he saw the powerful artist still had a very shy personality, but had adorable expressions, a sweet voice, and was quite handsome.

And then today, Arthur met the fierce side of the skater: he met the ice hockey captain. Arthur had always found it odd that someone so nice, so meek, and so quiet was leading the team of one of the roughest sports in school. Today, he had finally understood.

Yesterday Arthur had learned Matthew was superb on ice, he could make the ice a canvas, but today he learned Matthew could also kill on the ice.

Matthew reminded him of a feline hunting on ice: he was elegant, precise, ruthless, and deadly. He knew how to defend himself, and also how to attack.

He wasn't brutal, gruesome, nor beastly, but he was fearsome. He was calculative, but also managed to imprint in his moves the same passion Arthur had seen on him when he'd figure skated.

Arthur had been speechless, breathless, as he'd watched Matthew play. As he'd watched him lead his team, banter back and forth with them, and laugh at their obscenities.

He knew Ludwig had been taking notes, analyzing and watching the team's technique closely as they'd played. But all Arthur had had on his mind was: _I want that lad to behave that way with me. I want to know him, want him to feel comfortable enough with me to talk like that, joke like that. He is absolutely mesmerizing, fascinating._

"Well, anything you'd like to add, Arthur?"

Arthur blinked back to reality. Ludwig was watching him, and so was Matthew. Arthur looked back at the captain's wide, indigo eyes.

"Nothing, really. The practice was brilliant. I just might even have to come and watch a game." he answered.

Matthew's eyebrows shot up. He smiled softly as he said "Well, we're playing tomorrow, if you're really interested. It's at Aspen High, at seven pm."

Arthur smiled, feeling childishly happy that Matthew had invited him somewhere, too. "I'll see if I can come along."

The three said their goodbyes. Matthew turned back to the rink once Ludwig promised to text him later about going to his house. Ludwig and Arthur left the small building together.

Arthur decided to strike up a conversation. "Why, I don't think I've ever felt so interested in a sport before."

Ludwig smiled a small smile. "I could tell, President. You've never been much of an enthusiast for sports. What was different about today?"

"I don't know. I was simply mesmerized during the whole practice. The team was loud and boisterous, but disciplined, and they weren't completely annoying. They moved beautifully on the ice, despite the sport's ferocious nature. And that Matthew fellow surprised me. Every time I see the kid he's quiet and shy, but today I saw he really can be a great leader."

Ludwig nodded in agreement. "Yes, the team's good, and I know the team's in good hands with Matthew. That kid is too shy for his own good, but he has a lot of talent. And he's organized, thank Gott, because I already have to deal with too many slobs in the sport clubs. At least the ice hockey team is like a safe haven."

Arthur hummed his agreement, looking at the warm colors of the afternoon. He really loved those vivid colors. Ludwig started reading the papers Matthew had given him, wanting to check everything was in order.

Both teens were almost at the school's gates when Ludwig realized something.

"Scheiße!" he muttered quietly. He pulled out a couple of papers from the stack the Canadian had given him. "These are Matthew's. They're his notes from Calculus, he must have left them here without noticing. We have a quiz tomorrow." The German checked his watch. "_Verdammt_, I'll be late if I turn back to give him these-"

"I'll go," Arthur offered, taking the papers from Ludwig. "I'm in no hurry."

"Thank you," Ludwig said honestly, his eyes grateful. "I have to go. See you tomorrow, President."

"See you then." Arthur answered, as the German took off in a jog.

Arthur looked down at Matthew's small, clear handwriting, at his organized little numbers. He smiled. It looked like luck was smiling down on him.

* * *

When Arthur opened the door to the small gym, he saw no one. For a moment he feared Matthew had left, but he soon saw the boy's things lying next to the rink.

"Hullo? Matthew?" he walked in, but received no response.

He stood next to the rink, listening for any sounds of life. He thought he heard something from the back room. He vaguely remembered having been showed the rink's locker room once, when he had been toured around the school as President for the first time. Back in the locker room there were also a couple of showers and a water dispenser.

Arthur made his way to the locker room, hoping Matthew hadn't suddenly fancied taking a shower.

When he opened the door to the back rooms, he remembered something. _Oh, right. It's like a bloody labyrinth back here._

He hoped he remembered enough from the time he'd come before, and stepped in.

He heard Matthew's voice a little while later. It was muffled, though, and he couldn't quite make out where it came from. "No, Carlos, I know. Ugh, wait, I'm going to put you on speaker."

Arthur could make out a thick laugh, though it was coated with static. "Mattie, you have an unhealthy obsession with the speakerphone." _Ah, he's speaking on the phone._

"Well, I like to put it when I'm alone because it's easier to pretend the person you're talking to is here with you."

"...That sounded somewhere between adorable little puppy and forever alone." the deep voice answered Matthew.

"Shut up, Carlos" Matthew answered with a bite in his tone, but he laughed anyway. That Carlos fellow laughed too.

Arthur tried the door to his left. A broom closet. He groaned and kept on walking, trying to follow Matthew's voice.

"God, Mattie, I miss ya. Are you sure you can't transfer back here?"

_Transfer? _"Sorry Carlos, but I told you I'm finishing my senior year here. That doesn't mean I don't miss Canada, though." Matthew said, longing in his tone.

"Damn, Mattie. I swear, you're insufferable." Carlos' gruff voice sounded like it was mocking Matthew.

"Why yes, Mrs. Moir, I guess I am." Matthew answered, his voice also sounding in a way that made Arthur feel like he was missing an inside joke.

Carlos laughed. "Even that bitchy teacher misses you."

"Well, I'm certainly not shedding any tears for her."

Arthur was almost sure he'd made it this time. He tried the door to his right. _... A chair? Just a chair, in the middle of the room?_ Arthur didn't even want to know.

He closed the door and kept walking. He tried to listen for Matthew's voice again, trying to convince himself that it was alright to eavesdrop on his conversation, even if though really wasn't.

"Oh, Mattie! I didn't tell you! I'm dating this adorable new kid. He's so freakin' cute!"

Arthur paused then, curious as to what Matthew's reaction would be. Was he alright with two males dating?

"Hmm, a kid? Should I be worried, Carlos?"

"You idiot, I ain't no pedophile. He's only a month younger than us. He's this adorable little brunette, and he's just so freakin' tiny. He looks like a porcelain doll. You have to meet him!"

Matthew laughed. "Sure thing! Tell me when and I can videoconference. That way, I can embarrass you thoroughly."

As Carlos yelled at Matthew, apparently flustered, and Matthew laughed, Arthur smiled. He kept on walking. _At least he seems to be alright with same-sex relationships._ The Brit kept walking.

Matthew's voice grew stronger to Arthur's when he said. "Okay, okay, all jokes aside. I'd love to meet him, Carlos. I'm really glad you're with him; you sound happy. I can't tomorrow 'cause I have a match, but tell me when and I'll do my best."

"Sure thing! Now, speaking of love, has anyone caught your eye, Mattie?" Arthur sucked in a breath.

"Ha, no."

"Are you sure? 'Cause you sound like your heart's taken..." Carlos sing-sang.

"Please. No."

"Not even a crush, Mattie?"

"... Maybe."

_Oh. So the lad likes someone..._

"Ha, ha! I knew it! Well, you better call me when your crush starts paying attention to you!"

Matthew laughed. "As if that'll ever happen."

Suddenly the line went quiet. "Carlos? Carlos, you there?" Matthew asked.

Carlos sounded dead serious when he answered. "Mattie?"

Matthew sounded confused. "Yes?"

"Are you crushing on a fictional character again?"

Mathew's reaction was instantaneous. He yelled furiously "Carlos, I swear to God! I will find you, and I will tie you to a tree, and I will coat you in honey, and I will personally make sure a moose eats your head off!" Arthur held back a laugh. Matthew sounded embarrassed, and enraged. The Brit could almost imagine the lad blushing like mad.

Carlos laughed so hard he seemed to have dropped the phone. "Well, when your characters jumps off the pages of your book, invite me to your wedding."

"Carlos, I will hang up. I swear I will."

Carlos still couldn't seem to stop laughing. "I'm sorry, Mattie. I just love making you mad."

"If you were here, I would have punched you by now."

Carlos laughed again. "You see? You're adorable when you get mad. You're like an angry kitten."

"I'll remind you angry kittens can scratch your face into oblivion."

"I know, Mattie. I never said you were harmless, just cute."

Arthur was almost sure he'd arrived to the locker room this time. _Wait, didn't I already pass this door before? Damn it._

Matthew sighed. "Well, I hate to have to say goodbye, but I have to go. If not I won't be able to skate."

_Hmm, so his little friend knows about his figure skating..._

"Okay Mattie, I'll let you go on one condition." Carlos finally said.

"And what's that?"

"Promise you'll tie your hair up into that little hot high ponytail I love."

"..." Matthew stayed silent.

Arthur had to admit, it sounded a bit like flirting on Carlos' side... _Was this how Matthew reacted when a man flirted with him?_ Arthur swallowed, feeling gray.

"Wait a sec, Mattie... Don't tell me you already have have your hair tied up like that?" Carlos asked.

Matthew laughed loudly. "I swear Carlos, we think too much alike."

_So his silence wasn't disgust, but rather shock? _Arthur felt relieved.

Carlos laughed. "Well, you go Glenn Coco, you go and seduce some motherfucker with that hot little high ponytail of yours."

Arthur saw light coming out of one room. _Yes! That has to be it!_ He gripped Matthew's notes a little tighter.

Matthew chuckled. "Let's see if it works. Talk to you soon, Carlos. Have fun, please study, and do something romantic for your boyfriend. Take care."

"I will, Mattie. You too, okay? Skate your heart out today, promise me that."

Matthew's voice sounded sweet when he answered, "I will. Bye."

"Bye."

The line went dead just a second before Arthur stepped into the room.

Matthew was facing the way opposite to him, and didn't seem to have heard Arthur's entrance. He was also shirtless, and Arthur couldn't help but gape at his back. First Arthur noticed his strong shoulders, and the strong muscles that covered Matthew's back.

Next, he noticed the deep, dark scars on Matthew's lower back. There were a couple just above the ice hockey captain's pants, some small but deep-looking, and others longer, but more superficial. There was also one that was parallel to Matthew's spine, and it went from his right shoulder blade to where his waist was. The first thing Arthur thought was _he must have bled a lot._

The scars looked old, and it looked like the wounds they'd covered up had been painful. But they didn't look ugly on Matthew's skin: it looked like they had defined him in a way. Who would have guessed such a kind soul had suffered horrors great enough to bear such scars?

Arthur felt sad for the kind ice hockey captain. He wished the lad had never had to suffer the wounds that had got him these scars.

Matthew reached over to grab a loose T-shirt, and Arthur realized that if he didn't speak up he'd probably come off as some creepy stalker.

"Matthew?"

The lad jumped up, surprised. He turned his head to see Arthur, and blushed. He suddenly seemed to realize his back was on display, so he swiftly turned around, hiding his back from the Brit.

"A-Arthur! Oh, um, I—"

Arthur couldn't quite concentrate, not with the ice hockey captain's chest on display. _Matthew may look skinny under his loose shirts, but he definitely has muscle on him. He's lean but strong-looking..._

The Canadian was still stuttering, red-faced and utterly embarrassed, when Arthur noticed it wasn't fit for a gentleman to ogle someone quite so freely.

Arthur looked away, his face hot, and held up the captain's notes. "Your, uh, calculus notes. You gave them to," Arthur coughed uncomfortably "Uh, Ludwig. And he told me you had a quiz tomorrow, and so I offered to bring them back to you."

The awkwardness was high in the room as Matthew slipped on his shirt. But the Canadian couldn't help but think: _What a gentleman, going out of his way to make sure I had my notes with me..._

Matthew took a good look at this gruff-voiced, blushing Arthur that couldn't quite meet his eyes. _He's usually so centered and bold, but he looks adorable like this..._

Matthew smiled as he answered, "Oh, why, th-thank you. You really d-didn't, um, have to go out of your way t-to just—"

"But I did! I couldn't just _leave_ knowing you'd get all nervous at home when you couldn't find your notes!" Arthur interrupted.

They looked at each other for a moment, and Arthur's face got redder. _Now I look like some pathetic bastard who passes his every waking hour thinking about a perfect stranger._ "Oh, just take your bloody notes before I embarrass myself further."

Matthew laughed softly and took his notes. "Well, it was really n-nice of you to think about me. It really is awful to have that sinking feeling when you realize you lost something i-important."

Arthur smiled. "Well, there you go." The Brit decided to see how far he could test this less-embarrassed-than-usual-Matthew "And I'm glad, too, you don't seem so nervous around me right now."

Matthew's eyebrows shot up, and his cheeks warmed. "O-oh?"

Arthur smiled gently, "Yes. I know you're shy, but seeing you around your teammates, completely at ease, was... shocking. Even around Ludwig you aren't too shy to speak and act as you like. But around me you always seem... panicked."

Arthur saw the lad's cheeks grow redder and his mortification starting to come back, so he quickly added "And I know you're more comfortable around them, which is why your shyness retreats, but I'd like it if we could spend more time together, so you can grow comfortable around me too. You seem like an awfully interesting person, Matthew, and I'd love to get to know you."

Arthur knew he'd laid all his cards on the table with the statement, but with people so shy it was either give them a clue or you'd never advance. Now, he had a fifty-fifty chance: either Matthew saw him as a creep and pushed him far, far away, or they could start speaking to each other, and getting to know each other.

"Oh, I, um," he looked up at Arthur and smiled sweetly "I'm really honored, A-Arthur. I never thought you'd ever pay attention to me. I thought you didn't even know my n-name."

Well, technically Arthur hadn't remembered his name yesterday, but he knew it now. And that was all that mattered.

"You underestimate yourself, lad." Arthur got an idea. "Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow?"

Matthew looked surprised, as if he'd thought maybe Arthur had been kidding about spending time together. But he looked pleased as he answered. "I'd l-love to."

"Excellent. Meet me at the second floor of the old building, by the stairs. If you have to buy your food I don't have any trouble waiting."

"No, no, I um, I bring my lunch, usually."

Arthur smiled. Matthew did look like the type to bring his lunch. "Alright, even better. More time for us to speak."

"Will, um, will we e-eat on the stairs?"

Arthur smiled. "No, lad. You see, I've tripped into some secrets of yours lately," _The ice skating, eavesdropping on his conversations, seeing those scars..._ "So I figured the right thing to do was to introduce you to a _"secret"_ of my own. So tomorrow, you'll se."

Matthew smiled. _Dieu, he's such a gentleman. He's so considerate, so conscious of me. He realized he's accidentally intruded into some of my personal things, and he wants me to feel less vulnerable, so he's going to show me something that's important and secret to him too._

Arthur was dreamy, in Matthew's eyes. _He's always there to help._

"O-Okay. Tomorrow, then."

"Yes."

Silence stretched between them as Matthew collected his belongings. Arthur hated to do so, but decided to break the silence. He didn't want to impose on Matthew either. The trick here would be to warm up the water little by little, lest the frog jumped out.

"I'll leave you to your skating, then. See you tomorrow, Matthew." He loved how the name rolled off his tongue.

Arthur had already turned around when the other's sweet voice called out. "Arthur! U-um, wait."

The Brit turned around, curious. The ice hockey captain was biting his lip, looking down at the floor, as if mulling some thought over. Arthur seized the time to appreciate Matthew's little, high ponytail.

That Carlos fellow was on to something, alright. The ponytail fit Matthew beautifully, enhancing his features, his defined jaw. It also made his lovely indigo eyes more visible, even if they were still hidden behind Matthew's oval-shaped glasses.

When Matthew looked back up at Arthur, his glasses slipped a little down his long nose. Arthur had an impulse to slide them back up in place, but remained still.

"Did-did you, I mean, yesterday you t-told me you really liked how I skated. That you thought it w-was art. That it-it left an impression on you." Matthew took a deep breath, his cheeks growing warmer. "Did you, did you really m-mean it?"

Arthur smiled fondly. "Of course I did. You looked beautiful out on the ice," Arthur's heart sped up a little when he realized Matthew's cheeks reddened at the comment "Your form was flawless, at least to my eye. You managed to transmit the feelings the song conveys, which is a difficult thing to manage, especially with _that_ song. You had me at the edge of my seat your whole presentation."

Matthew couldn't believe it. He was still half expecting the whole thing to be a big joke, probably orchestrated by his brother. But Arthur looked completely honest. _Receiving such compliments by someone as serious and formal as him... I can't believe it._

Matthew smiled that sweet, shy smile of his. "Well, if you really liked it that much, I, um, I mean you could, well if it's not too much of a bother! And if you want to of course, b-but... You can stay and watch me practice today. Um, i-if you want."

Arthur's eyebrow's shot up this time, surprised by the offer. But he smiled, happy. _He took the lead this time. _He _invited_ me._ Would you look at that, Ludwig? He also invites me to do things. And he invited me to something he keeps a secret from the general public._

"I'd love to, Matthew."

Matthew loved how his name sounded, coated in Arthur's honey-rich accent.

The Canadian led the President back to the rink in a comfortable silence. He felt a bit awkward when he first started his practice, but soon enough he lost himself in the music, in the movements, in the cold of the ice.

Arthur was once again entranced watching the lad. And this time he didn't feel like an intruder, stealing away moments to watch an art piece forbidden to him. Instead he felt like a king, sitting tall and proud on the very first bleacher, the guest of honor, watching a show meant for him.

Once an hour rolled by, Matthew's alarm went off, signaling it was time to leave.

Arthur congratulated the skater, awing his performance once more. Matthew talked a little about figure skating and the technique he was trying to use, but it was a tad too technical for Arthur to fully comprehend.

Each grabbed all of their belongings, turned off the lights, and shut down the small gym.

Arthur gazed wistfully at the last rays of sunlight. He closed his eyes and basking in their warmth. Matthew noticed this, and smiled. Arthur looked quite handsome with his face painted in the sun's golden rays.

When the Brit opened his eyes, Matthew was enthralled by how beautiful they looked in the afternoon's waning light. The Brit's eyes were usually an impacting sight, all emerald, and deep. Besides, his powerful, determined gaze made the color even more outstanding. But now in the sunlight they looked liquid, two wells of molten precious stones, with specks of yellow and gold.

"Your eyes look outstanding in this light, Matthew." Arthur suddenly said.

The Canadian laughed, realizing they had both been thinking the same thing.

The Brit seemed suddenly irritated. "What? They do! They aren't blue, but they aren't quite purple either. And in this light they look even more soft and textured than usual. So don't mock me!"

Matthew was smiling, mirth still showing in his face. "I'm not mocking you! It's just that we were thinking the same thing. Your eyes, um, look l-lovely, too."

Arthur's face went blank. Then he blushed a tad, chagrined at having been wrong. "Thank you." he muttered under his breath.

Matthew thought how nice it was to see Arthur embarrassed instead of him.

_ That's mean of you to think, he's been nothing but nice to you!_

So he distracted Arthur by commenting on whatever as he started to walk to the school's gates. Arthur followed suit.

They left the school and walked together, making small talk as the twilight took the city.

They arrived at a small cafe, where they realized they had to part ways to arrive to each of their respective houses.

"Well, I'm off, Matthew. My house's that way. Have fun with that... Video game marathon?"

The Canadian chuckled softly. "Yeah, Al loves and inviting people over to play. And he connects online with Kiku almost every day to play. They're both really good. I like video games too, but not as much as Al does, so I don't join in often when he invites people over for a marathon. I might tonight, though, after I make the cookies..." As their conversation had progressed, Matthew had found it easier to talk to Arthur. He wasn't tripping over his words anymore.

"Do you like baking?"

"Oh, I love cooking. Especially sweet things. But I love cooking for other people, and I love watching them enjoy the food. I just really like it when you eat with someone and there's this easy-going, relaxed ambient, that makes you feel warm and happy."

Arthur smiled, unsurprised at the Canadian's attentive, sweet attitude.

The Brit had realized that as their conversation had progressed Matthew was more relaxed, and talked more. He often droned on when he answered questions, and spaced out a little. It looked like he spoke his thoughts, often without filter.

"That sounds wonderful. It's very attentive of you to think that way."

The Canadian looked at Arthur. "I just love making people happy."

"You're a very nice person, Matthew. Don't ever let anyone take that away from you."

"You're awfully nice, too, Arthur."

Arthur gave a sarcastic laugh. "Not really. I'm like a bitter old man always looking for something to complain about."

"You're nicer than you give yourself credit to, Arthur. You're always looking after everyone, and you respect everyone's space, and you speak so smoothly, and you can really calm someone down. I've seen you take at least seven people to the nurse's office, and trying to make them feel better."

"That's just my job as the school's President."

"No, I think that's just the excuse you like to hide under." Matthew had always been watching Arthur, and he thought the Brit was really sensitive, but liked to hide it from everyone. Maybe he even hid it from himself sometimes, and if so, Matthew wanted him to see.

"Because a President can be lousy or completely aloof, but you do things that go even beyond your duty. I mean, you always give the tour around the school to anyone who's new, for example." Matthew insisted.

Arthur was going to argue, but Matthew interrupted him. "Just... think about it, okay? 'Cause I think you're a good person."

Arthur was touched by the other's honesty, he truly was.

"Alright then. I'll see you tomorrow."

"At lunch, by the stairs on the second floor of the old building."

Arthur smiled. He couldn't seem to stop smiling, really. "I'll see you there."

He turned to leave, but once again the Canadian spoke up, making him turn around. "Oh, and Arthur!" The ice hockey captain blushed, turning a bit bashful again. "Have a g-good night."

Arthur laughed. "Sweet dreams, lad."

* * *

Hey! How was the story? Did you all like it? Please tell me your comments!

Have a great day! And see you all next chapter!

And Makayla, sweetie, I was so late because of unfortunate situations, so I'm sorry. I hope you didn't get sad 'casue of my delay! I'll finish it soon, but remember, it's gonna be a long fic (character development and plot, yay!), so it'll take a little time. I think you already know which prompt this one is, so hehehe. And if I get time, I'll write out the other idea I had from another prompt (a FrUS!), which is a shorter, cute story.


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